


An Alpha's Price

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Katsuki Yuuri, Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bigotry & Prejudice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Intimacy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Scents & Smells, Slow Dancing, Swordfighting, Swords, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Victorian Attitudes, just wanted an excuse to write a swordfighting scene so that's why this fic exists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: In a world where Alphas are rarely born, they've become a commodity--traded and sold like property. Viktor Nikiforov has successfully avoided marriage--for the past twenty years since his turning.However, at the struck of his twenty-seventh birthday, now or never, society urges him to choose someone as his mate.Will someone have Viktor's hand at the end of the party? Does Viktor avoid marriage and is allowed to live his own life? Does he, perhaps, fall more in love with whom he already loves, but they aren't aware of it because of situational things and they're hiding a piece of their identity?“I won’t go easy on you, danseur.” Viktor reached his hand underneath his bed and felt around before his hand brushed against a familiar handle. Unearthed from the darkness was his rapier, fitting nicely over his hand like a ring. The golden tinge of the knuckle brace reminded him of such when Viktor lifted his gaze and met Yuuri’s. “That’s how I show my love.”





	An Alpha's Price

**Author's Note:**

  * For [japansace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/gifts), [karasunotsubasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunotsubasa/gifts).



> Simply following my trend with omegaverse!stories, I had no outline while writing this. It might explain some of the strange things that happened in this story. The freedom of not having an outline was sort of liberating but scary at the same time~
> 
>  **Warnings:** The setting of this story is that there is an Omega-dominated society in Europe, and Alphas make up a tenth of the population. Because they are rare and are valued as “breeding stock” for the elite, there are squeamish of anecdotes about the conditions that these Alphas go through.
> 
> If mistreatment and borderline emotional manipulation where an Omega treats their Alpha as a sex slave makes you uncomfortable, it’s probably for the best that you click away or start reading somewhere in the middle of this story, [ _There was a mirror within the confines of the Nikiforov Manor, upstairs and two rooms to the left_ ] If you do want to gain context of the story--both in worldbuilding and the setup of the story’s conflict--you may proceed with the beginning. Fair warning, the OC dubbed “Lady Dofus” is truly a despicable human and probably the worst villain I’ve ever written for. A friend and I wanted to slap her.
> 
> Other than that, it was nice to write for an omegaverse again after I’ve been avoiding the trope for so long. I can only write this genre under the guise of a Victorian!era.

_An Alpha’s Price was much like renting a plot of land for the seasonal crops._

_As low as two thousand crowns, a farmer could reap and sow a lovely harvest. Indulge the land with as many cabbage peels and sour grapes as needed, churn crops at a quicker rate with every demand until the soil perished beneath the grass. Where therein, the beasts of burden would till the land once more, the farmer would sow, but the farmer would not reap. In which, the earth would be sold to another for ten crows for every till until the plot became a barren wasteland. Cracked, caked with sand and loose rocks. Mutilated beyond its worth, from all of which had been sown._

_As high as fifteen thousand crowns, very little of anything changed if the plot of land was worth two thousand. The main difference was that this farmer was richer, of higher prestige, yet they still toiled and grounded the land beneath their feet until it succumbed to every wish and desire. Sprouting more and more crops until the land perished, but the rich farmer amended the earth with every concoction known to Man until the soil became a sick, yellow color. They so assumed that something fertile would yield as much as demanded, but it was no better than treating the land as a slave._

_That was an Alpha’s Price, both from the crowns materialized over their head and for the endless nights, writhing under a sheet as an Omega or Beta pounded every inch of desire into a climax. Where it felt good, but the Alpha was already crumbling when asked for another._

_It was as if to breed and be bred was the only service they could do, and it was the debt that an Alpha always paid._

 

 

 _He’s sterile, self-inflicted,_ came the whisper at the bottom of the Nikiforov Manor’s stairway.

It was hard for a rumor to hurt, even if the arrow burrowed its tip into Viktor’s shoulder when he stepped down from the spiraling stairway. He neither stumbled nor froze in mid-step when his eyes swept from behind his silver curtain. A youth in his late teens, stupor from a flute of champagne, flushed in a myriad of red and pink when he met Viktor’s gaze.

How though social standing could protect the youth from his comment, he couldn’t hide from the narrow of Viktor’s eyes. Viktor’s lips brushed into a smirk, daring the youth to speak his mind once more. Louder, for the entire party to hear. No, the youth knew better than to taunt again and pay the price of a flogging.

Such as the ways of a Beta, of a white-gloved individual who knew nothing of the price lingering over Viktor’s shoulders, but Viktor thought nothing of it when he crossed the final step on the stairway. Where his mother and father embraced him, and he melted to their touch. A bright, vibrant patch of strawberries came to mind when the guests of the party lifted their noses from their handkerchiefs and caught a whiff of Viktor’s delectable scent. Enough for the mouth to water.

This was the smell of an unbonded Alpha- _-of an unbonded Viktor, to be more precise-_ -and families had pooled together with their numerous children so that Viktor could fall in love and bond with at least one. For with one, the number for Viktor to pleasure depended on how large his mate’s family was. Easily, the variable ranged between five and twelve. More than enough to keep Viktor busy for every week and every month for the rest of his life. Until he was like one of the bonded Alphas brought here by their mates, huddled near the dining space with a tiny babe in their arms after years of sowing. Reaped of anything close to the stature of good-health and Viktor was the only one who could smell their graying scent.

This was an Alpha’s Price, as much as Viktor had avoided it for nearly twenty years of his life.

From the age he turned, to the scent that followed, it was as if nothing was more important than the dynamic etched across his skin when people turned and followed him with their eyes.

_How could two Betas produce an Alpha offspring?_

The question wasn’t deaf to Lady Nikiforov when she offered a plate of cucumber sandwiches to a group of women, whom she may’ve called as her friends in a past life. The porcelain plate clattered against the coffee table with more force than Mrs. Nikiforov intended, oozing out the sauce she slathered onto the toasted bread. A few cucumbers slipped out with a jostle, but Lady Nikiforov’s faint scent spoke nothing of the quiet fire crackling behind her gestures.

She took a seat in her armchair and crossed her legs. The flowing hem of her dress swished as she nestled closely by the fireplace, poking the burning logs with a poker. A bright red when she was through with it, held in her hand much like a rapier, before she mounted the fixture back into its place.

“It has been a pleasure for whom you all have graced the manor with your presence,” Lady Nikiforov bowed her head. A sliver of a few bangs slipped from her embroidered braid, slanted across her forehead, and tickled the tip of her nose before she curved the loose strands behind her ear. In almost every way, she was, indeed, Viktor’s birth-mother. Not that birth or whom came from where was of any importance to the party of gentlewomen, but it was difficult to believe that such a good-natured Beta would produce a knick-headed son, like Viktor.

“Nikiforov, if your Viktor was my son,” spoke Lady Tremaine, “Marriage would’ve already been arranged once he turned, and he would’ve married at the ripe age of sixteen!” A hoot of laughter bounced off her tongue, and she glanced at the rest of the women before helping herself to a sandwich. A good chuckle or two trickled from the rest, their hands over the tops of their bosoms as they talked about the marriage arrangements _they_ have done for their children.

None of which were Alphas; none of which were of age to marry. At least, in Lady Nikiforov’s eyes.

She managed a closed-mouth smile when she lifted a cucumber sandwich and crisped a bite along the edge. As if it was the fine tip of a blade her Viktor fancied during his duel practices. “My, I didn’t marry my husband until I was my Viktor’s age.” An innocent tilt to her head as Lady Nikiforov nibbled on a bit of cucumber. “My mother didn’t marry until she was in her thirties. Her fathers didn’t marry until they felt safe at the age of thirty-five.” If she could, Lady Nikiforov would’ve gone through her own lineage and all the ages of how which her family members married at to prove her point. “Sixteen feels young for marriage.”

She glanced at her company, half-expected a hoot of laughter, but none of which came as the women distracted themselves with a bit of crust and cucumber. Was speaking one’s mind such a crime in a company of Omegas?, Lady Nikiforov wondered when she licked a line of sauce from her thumb and she bit the edge of her nail. Not aimed at anyone in particularly, but the woman sitting in front of her; well, her chest swelled with a sort of impish pride that only vanity and wealth could inflate.

“Not young enough for an Alpha,” spoke Lady Dofus.

She was as fair as she was crooked when she straightened her back. Her Omega privileges were enshrined upon her necklace, coiled around her neck, and of the fresh scent of her Alpha wife when she _\--barely five years younger than Viktor--_ came at a single snap of the fingers. Two snaps was it all it took.

The first to signal to her wife that she needed a comfort-scent. The second was for immediate action. The third never came, but it could easily break the line between affection and punishment when Lady Dofus exposed her neck and her young wife rubbed her cheek against her master’s scent-glands. The lightest whisper of a growl compelled the young Alpha to rub her cheek harder. A tsk soon followed as Lady Dofus combed her fingers through her lovely’s hair. The Alpha’s breath was hitched to the back of her throat when Lady Dofus’ nail stroked down the line of her face.

“My darling, Felipe, was the youngest for me to choose, unfortunately.” As if that was a compliment, Lady Dofus lightly slapped Felipe’s cheek and commanded her to sit. Not on the chair, not on her lap, but on the floor. Closest to the fireplace, where soot hitched onto Felipe’s dress. She didn’t move. Not when Lady Dofus was one snap away from punishing her in private on the way home, later tonight in the carriage. Whatever a punishment meant in the Dofus estate and Lady Nikiforov didn’t hide her frown when Lady Dofus picked at the garish ribbons tangled in Felipe’s locks.

“She seems to be a doll for you.” Lady Nikiforov maintained a friendly tone, though by the grit of her teeth. Indeed, it was as if Felipe had no say in what she was wearing. A satin-made dress that was barely suitable for December, where Felipe’s sleeves were exposed to the elements and a blotchy pink color from nervousness.

Lady Dofus ran a finger slowly down Felipe’s arm, watching how her Alpha squirmed under her touch. However, Felipe didn’t say a word. She was too much of a doll to fight back; having her instincts subdued by something far worse that Lady Nikiforov couldn’t imagine when Lady Dofus smiled pleasantly up at her. “She is a doll. One of my favorites since my last wife died.”

Felipe widened her eyes and blinked at Lady Nikiforov in a fast succession as Lady Dofus mumbled into her sweet’s ear, expressing much displeasure of how Felipe was presenting herself in front of company like this. Such dirtiness, such weakness, such a fracture in innocence was meant for Lady Dofus’ eyes, only. Could Felipe remember that?

Felipe hesitated before she nodded. From the corner of her eye, she caught how Lady Dofus stared affectionately at the fire poker mounted near Lady Nikiforov's fireplace. Before a thought could grace her mind, Felipe shuffled uncomfortably and Lady Dofus allowed her to leave.

“Go, you might learn a thing or two from Viktor if he’ll spare you his gaze.” A not-so-subtle wink fluttered from her face when Felipe scampered, retreating back to the dining space where she could rest with the other Alpha mates and calm the timpani that had replaced her fragile heart. She struggled in her escape, a noticeable limp with one of her legs.

Lady Nikiforov narrowed her eyes.

“Felipe walks with such pain. I presume it is of your doing.” Not a second for Lady Dofus to gather herself before Lady Nikiforov pointed an imaginary rapier at the Omega’s chest. Fashioned from the best material on this side of the country and Lady Nikiforov could see Lady Dofus’ neck, reflected over the imaginary blade.

“Naturally, Nikiforov. As I grow older still, I require suitable heirs to flourish my estate.” _Unlike you,_ Lady Dofus said with a stare. She craned her neck and breathed deeply, discerning Viktor’s scent amongst a mixture of others. Viktor was evidently alone, pouring over a book he found pleasing while a squabble of suitors watched and cooed in fascination. Of such a well-educated, well-bred Alpha that could read to their future-children and tuck kisses into bed. “I, myself, cannot wander into a pig’s pen and pay ten crowns for an Alpha to service me if Felipe cannot keep up. If rather the time comes and I’m no longer of my duty, Felipe is still young and will produce ten heirs for me.”

In the very back of her mind, Lady Nikiforov could imagine the cold, cobbled road beneath Felipe’s unsteady steps when she was dropped at one of the town’s pens. Secured with a note so that the guards wouldn't carol her into a cage, and Felipe was left to her own devices as she wandered down the darkness and peered through the bars. Of naked, defiled Alphas exhausted on their sides. Sticky from a previous client, chained collars straddled around their necks, and hundreds of breaths in a filthy place. The smell, alone, would haunt Felipe for the rest of her life. A guard picked out an Alpha for her. Enclosed her into the cage for an hour and the tired prisoner would crack his neck before crawling towards Felipe.

On all fours, sniffing her scent. Confused as to why she was here and Felipe would mutter that this was due to her master’s orders before she rested her hands upon the prisoner’s shoulders and cried. Tears falling between her feet. Pain for herself and for the man she was to be with for an hour, and Felipe would whisper that her master chose this night, specifically, because her rut was coming. Upon glancing down at the prisoner, she’d see how interested he was. Not by his own design, but from the food grains he was fed with. Drugged with some sort of concoction so that his rut would never retire.

This was their price as Alphas.

Felipe would spread her legs, close her eyes so that the hour would come sooner than she thought, but she didn’t feel the pressure of the other Alpha. Instead, he huddled in the corner and refused to approach Felipe. She was scared, and he didn’t want that for her. Instead, he wrapped Felipe in his blanket and told her to lay still under it. So when her master picked her up, Felipe would smell as if she had service done to her. Between tears, Felipe nodded and thanked the Alpha. She asked for his name. The prisoner stiffened before he brushed his bangs to the side. A few wry, silvery strands caught a glint of the moonlight from above.

_“Viktor.”_

The cucumber sandwich slipped out from Lady Nikiforov’s hand and fell between her feet. If a Beta’s scent was indistinguishable before, the rage that buckled beneath Lady Nikiforov’s skin was quite unlike anything that party of gentlewomen had ever smelled before. It was like burnt copper, sickening to every degree because of the fire that raged within Lady Nikiforov’s heart when she yanked Lady Dofus by her necklace.

This piece of jewelry spoke of _‘me, myself and I’._ There was no love, no care, and not an inch of it spoke a damn of any true affections Lady Dofus had towards Felipe.

_Alphas are nothing but breeding stock for the finest individuals in our domain._

If anyone was to say that, Lady Nikiforov would kindly ask Viktor if she could borrow his practice blade. Lord Nikiforov came to his wife’s side and slowly pried her fingers off from Lady Dofus. Already, heads had turned and no one could forget the growl that crept from Lady Nikiforov’s lips when she stared softly into her husband’s eyes before letting go. Naturally, Lady Dofus demanded compensation for her injuries. Feigning that the stress of Lady Nikiforov’s actions may’ve decreased her chances of carrying an heir, and Lady Dofus nudged for one of her lady friends to fan her as she nibbled on a cucumber sandwich for comfort.

Meanwhile in the safety of familiar arms, Lord Nikiforov comforted his wife, scenting her gently to ease the flames behind her eyes while tears flushed the corner of Lady Nikiforov’s eyes.

 _“She’s hurting Felipe,”_ Lady Nikiforov mouthed, careful to hide her lips with her hand as her husband whisked her away from Lady Dofus and the other gentlewomen. _“And I imagined our son and I…”_ Choked by her own words, a tear stained the side of Lady Nikiforov’s cheek when she saw the hungry suitors. Perched towards one side of the living space, watching as Viktor lived a normal life as he could. Acting his best to remind them that he was a person, regardless of his dynamic and his status as bonded or not.

“Where did we go wrong?” Lady Nikiforov buried her cheek against her husband’s neck. By ‘we’, Lady Nikiforov referred to the world. When did one dynamic become so ostracized that being referred as ‘breeding stock’ sounded like a compliment for what an Alpha did? When did humanity lose its humanity? All these woes choked the courage that had been strong in Lady Nikiforov's blood.

This was an Alpha’s Price and Lady Nikiforov felt the burden hot across her heart at the thought that her Viktor would lose his freedoms. Forever.

“We’ve done our best to teach Viktor how he can protect himself,” Lord Nikiforov said. “If his spouses were to take him to the pens, Viktor won’t sit quietly for it. He’ll carve his fate and live as he wishes. That is the strength we imparted him.” Lord Nikiforov embraced his wife, affectionately. Shouldering half of her pain so that it didn’t weigh her as much as before.

Viktor could smell his parents’ worries when he closed his book softly. He didn’t need to turn around to know that his suitors were eagerly waiting. Simply to see his eyes, to inspect his lovely physique, to smell a strawberry field once more, and to have Viktor’s attention on them.

Many of these suitors were much older or younger than Viktor. If he was to choose one, he was forced to marry all of their siblings and service the family for the rest of his life as their breeding stock. That was his price as an Alpha, but he didn’t have to pay it.

Viktor rose from his seat and stepped outside the manor for a breath of fresh air.

At once, the party shifted to the outdoors and the courtyard that Viktor enjoyed was crowded with eager guests. Bets were held as to whom would take his hand, and ten thousand or so crowns were shoveled across the courtyard. Much to the Nikiforovs’ dismay when their way of life became a house of business. Lady Nikiforov didn’t hold her tongue, but her remarks were simply smolders compared to the familial fire when Viktor retreated to his secret place in the courtyard. Where under a thatched roof, where the grape vineyard would grow in the summer, Viktor grabbed two of his favorite swords. Danish rapiers, crafted by a blacksmith of the name Mikkelsen from the west of Kolding, and Viktor saw his eyes within the blade’s reflection.

Courage and integrity were not foreign to a student who had trained in patience, and Viktor felt a sliver of his bangs slip over his left eye when he emerged into the crowd. One of the rapiers, sheathed and bound. The other, free in his hand. The glint of the blade kept the guests away as Viktor approached his father and rested the bounded rapier in his arms.

Both men looked upon each other, a sort of trust left unspoken when Viktor pulled away. A mere flick of his wrist sent his rapier into the air. He jumped onto the slick surface of a chiseled bench and caught his rapier by the handle. The knuckle guard slipped over his hand like a ring, and Viktor needed no other gold when he swished his weapon in front of him. Sunlight pooled over the debole, like a crescent from the sun.

“If I am to marry at the end of this season, I will to whomever defeats me in a duel.” The challenge was spoken, and Viktor gave a firm nod to his father. Lord Nikiforov unsheathed the second rapier and a gentleman from the land of Brooks swaggered upon his heels and brandished the sword from him. Almost a hic to his laughter when he ran a finger over the false edge. The crookedness of his smile was jagged across the blade.

“How shall we duel? To the death?” His accent pierced more than the sword. “I’ll fancy mounting your defeat in my study.”

Viktor smiled softly as he hopped down from the chiseled bench and approached the gentleman of Brooks, slowly. Until his rapier touched the tip of the other’s. A slow drawl and twist of the wrist as their blades met in the middle, and the gentleman couldn’t step back or lest he showed his fear when Viktor’s smile slipped into a blank lip. “To the pain,” he said.

“Is that French?” The skid of one rapier to another sounded like a hornet of wasps, buzzing one after another, before the gentleman of Brooks stepped back. Farther into his retreat until his back bumped against the Nikiforov Manor, and Viktor had him pinned. The tip of his blade, as sharp as a prick, lightly traced over the knuckle guard of the other before it scratched a trail across a finger and more.

“No, the first that you lose is your composure, then your wits, and followed by every breath you thought you could take.” His rapier traced the outline of a thumb when it maneuvered over the sweepings.

“And then, my pride?” A warble rounded the edit of the statement before Viktor tsked underneath his breath.

“I wasn’t finished. The next thing you lose is your sense of self and fear why you have come here.” Viktor narrowed his eyes when he took one step forward. His rapier clashed against the other. The gentleman of Brooks trembled against Viktor’s gaze, squishing himself into the wood that comprised Nikiforov Manor.

“And then.. _.my pride?”_ He squeaked when Viktor rolled his wrist once more. His rapier caught within the other’s sweepings, Viktor yanked rightwards and the sword flew out from his opponent’s hand. Leaving the gentleman of Brooks quite helpless against an armed man.

 _“Wrong,”_ Viktor spoke, softly. “You keep your pride and I’ll tell you why.” He lowered his rapier, but the gentleman of Brooks saw his reflection glinted upon the blade. “So that every person you cross knows you as a coward. Every damsel will know of your bark, no bite. No man will view you as his brother. Every opponent you face will cry, _‘Dear God, he speaks from his ass,’_ and it’ll echo in your ears. This is what _‘to the pain’_ means.” A grin broke the surface of Viktor’s face. “It means I put you in your place.”

Viktor pulled a handkerchief from within his breast pocket and threw it to the gentleman from Brooks. The man didn’t stand a chance when his fingers fumbled towards the cloth.

 

 

There was a mirror within the confines of the Nikiforov Manor, upstairs and two rooms to the left. Hidden in the bathroom, behind a copper tub where the Nikiforov family had their individual, evening soaks beneath the suds and warmth against the winter’s edge. Cotton towels were draped over the silver fixtures, embroidered with a sense of connection, and there was a leak in the faucet when Yuuri washed his hands. A slather of lavender soap clothed the crevices between his fingers. One by one under a small trickle of water, and Yuuri’s behind was still numb from the listless minutes he had taken to sitting on the bathroom’s throne. Half an hour of rubbing the heel of his shoe against the wooden floor before his suppressants had taken into effect.

Minced acorns, a myriad of French herbs, two teaspoons of an unadulterated trepidation, and a cocktail of nerves settled to the bottom of Yuuri’s stomach when he took his prescription. Just as the good doctor had said would happen, Yuuri’s natural, Alpha scent was neutralized. As easy as that, though it was still hard to believe after five years of this masquerade. Pretending to be a Beta didn’t hurt as much as before, but Yuuri absently scratched down the curve of his neck. Reminding himself of his lie when he irritated his scent-glands. They were twin bulges, on either side of his neck and just below his jaw. Typically hidden underneath his skin but while under the influence of suppressants, his scent-glands swelled into tiny melons. Hot to the touch and Yuuri caught a whiff of his scent when he sniffed his fingertips.

The suppressants weren’t completely foolproof, but they were enough to dull his scent to such a degree that one had to come close to his neck before to realize who Yuuri truly was. A prized commodity like coal in the dead of winter, but Yuuri solved his problem when he bundled his scarf around his neck. The wool soothed the soreness of his scent-glands, and Yuuri caught his reflection when he wiped his hands dry.

Staring back at him was a scared man, repeatedly reaching his fingers down his scarf to soothe his soreness. Lest he didn’t have to speak, Yuuri could wait for the next hour or two until the inflammation ended so that a rasp wouldn’t overtake his tongue. So that people downstairs in the party wouldn’t ask Yuuri to repeat himself and risk discovering that he was not who they thought he was.

Whether it be one of Viktor’s suitors, one of the gentlewomen from Lady Nikiforov's excursion, or from Viktor when his lovely eyes captured a slice of Yuuri’s soul. There was a thought that lingered in the back of Yuuri’s mind if any of them ever found his truth.

Having tens or dozens of suitors at his beck and call wasn’t viable for a danseur, even if the attention was nice in the beginning. Satin ribbons and sweet words to drape around his neck weren’t enough to distract Yuuri from the honest truth of why people settled their eyes on him. Especially if they knew of his true dynamic and, perhaps, he’d have to learn how to tango horizontally when his feet felt more pleasure in a vertical waltz. A sashay to his hips before his next routine, and an unbonded might claim him when Yuuri dipped at the end of his performance. Close to a wall where he was easily pinned, and a slap to the face did nothing before a bite sank into his…

Yuuri traced the faint bite mark at the base of his neck. Technically, it wasn’t a bond mark for it didn’t break the skin, but Yuuri’s price had come sooner than he thought it would before he moved into the countryside and settled with a local ballet theatre for forty crowns a performance. This mark was the final straw before Yuuri tore his contract in front of his former-director’s face. If he couldn’t be protected, Yuuri turned to elsewhere.

 _“People like you are expected to be bonded,”_ his former-director once said. The portly Beta rose from his seat before Yuuri took a step out the door. _“Take it as a compliment that someone wanted you.”_

 _‘Want’_ was very much different from _‘Greed’,_ Yuuri thought to himself when he slipped out from his ballet shoes. Draping the soles over his shoulders when his foot passed the office threshold. His bangs trickled over the front of his spectacles. That audience member, an Omega who adored Yuuri as more than just a fan or an admirer, showed his true colors after requesting a short performance at the end of the main one a few hours prior. Left alone in the luxury box, up on the balcony of the theatre, Yuuri held a sabre in his hands when he conducted the private show. Alas, the Omega wanted him to hold a different sabre.

 _“Look, Kats,”_ his former-director never bothered to learn his surname, _“to some discretions, you were asking for it.”_

Was it part of the danseur description to be forcefully bonded to an audience member? Yuuri didn’t think so and he was lucky. He moved out from London, not three days later.

Five years after the incident, the memory was still fresh in Yuuri’s mind when he stared into the Nikiforov mirror and watched as a fragment of himself fell and shattered between his feet. Yuuri had no choice but to lie, even if he was crumbling within the bounds of his imagination. Who’s to say that he wouldn’t be seen as a meal if he walked out, clear of his suppressant?

Yuuri had taught himself to run, to hide whenever someone got close enough. To where his thoughts were only filled by them and it was a dangerous game to play while maintaining a masquerade. And yet, though Yuuri knew of how dangerous it was, the past five years were manageable when he met Viktor.

Perhaps, he didn’t quite learn from his first lesson when Lord Nikiforov reached out to him from the local theatre and asked Yuuri if he could perform private lessons for his son. Perhaps, there was a sense of trust between both men. One, Lord Nikiforov was void of a deceptive scent, and he paid Yuuri quite handsomely to make up for the performances Yuuri would miss on the desired date. Lo and behold, on Thursday eve after the exchange, Yuuri found himself in the Nikiforov Manor. Where he walked through the courtyard, admiring the symphony of luscious scents, before he met an Alpha.

Poised in the underbrush with a rapier. Sidestepped swings, left and right, as the man tackled an unruly rosebush until he crafted it to his design. Simple footwork against an opponent that couldn’t strike back, but the flick and twirl of his bangs with every movement mesmerized Yuuri. He found himself drawn to this man, to this Alpha, and the courtyard was the perfect complement to the lovely scent that wafted so tenderly in the Alpha’s dance. A masterpiece in motion, and Yuuri was swept into the performance when he danced as well. The flow of his garments aided the percussion that ticked and clicked from the tip of other’s rapier. Until the Alpha held Yuuri in his arms, and Yuuri draped his arms around the back of the Alpha’s neck. Dipped softly as his hair brushed against the rose petals against the bush. The fine fragrance beneath their feet when Yuuri looked up to the man, and the man stared fondly back at him.

His name was Viktor.

Now this feeling that had spurred in Yuuri’s chest, sprouted and wilted before sprouting again, didn’t have a particular word of which it could be described. However, if Yuuri was honest with himself, he had spent five years cultivating a sense of commodore with Viktor until all Yuuri could feel was love.

Each and every time he stepped through the Nikiforov threshold, Yuuri found love in every scent that wafted from the kitchen, from the ease of the floorboards beneath his feet, and from how Viktor’s touches would help him hold a rapier properly. Their fingers brushed, Viktor’s breath dampening the side of Yuuri’s neck, and their reflection across the blade. Of Yuuri’s unyielded expression and the soft care within Viktor’s eyes. Gradually, without a comment from Viktor, Yuuri relaxed when he held Viktor’s rapier. For the first or hundredth time. His fingers loosened to the touch, and Yuuri fancied himself with a blush when Viktor held out his own blade. Both tips tapped lightly, something for Yuuri to grow accustomed to for the succession of lessons soon after, and they spotted out a tiny duel.

Where Viktor’s technique was firm, but he lacked the fluidity of his footwork. Where Yuuri’s footwork resembled the dance of the sea, but his technique posed more for the dramatics than to land a mark. Someday, perhaps, Yuuri would land his mark and he’d kiss the man that showed him how.

In the meantime, Yuuri breathed out a sigh and left the bathroom.

Right now, with his scent at barely a simmer, Yuuri was no better than the Omegas and Betas that vied from Viktor’s hand. That much, he was certain of when Yuuri cascaded down the spiraling stairs. His fingers skimmed over the railing when he emerged into an empty living space. Only the cackle of the fireplace and the deserted cucumber sandwiches spoke of the life that had once been here, and a lingering scent spoke of where people moved next. To the courtyard, to the frigid bite of winter’s edge, and where the clink of two blades signaled a duel. Helping himself to a bit of cucumber, Yuuri crept out into the courtyard. The wind tickled behind his locks, threatened to yank at his scarf, but Yuuri moved quickly.

He sank into the ranks of the onlookers that had formed a circle as Viktor challenged Lady Dofus for his taste of freedom. Block. Heel. Viktor’s shoes dug into the snow with every relentless swing downed by Lady Dofus.

She was rather apt with a blade, free handing with a jagged jolt to her wrist. As if defense maneuvers were beneath her as she plowed Viktor to the other side of the circle, and Viktor struck back. The wobble of Lady Dofus’ debole left her stumbling as Viktor surged forward with his forte. Catching Lady Dofus’ blade around his. Skids chanted below their breaths. Strike. Hold. Jab. Viktor opened his frame, a deadly combination when he lowered his leading knee, and jabbed below Lady Dofus’ blade. Nearly bore a hole into her petticoat. Viktor struck upwards. Lady Dofus’ rapier flew from her grasp and clasped into Yuuri’s hands.

Though he was in the far end of the circle, the blade chose him.

“Best get your fencing in before you mark the circle.” A weathered Beta patted his arm, roughly, on Yuuri’s shoulder as if he was nailing his advice into the younger’s skin. “Heaven have chosen you as the next spouse-to-be.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “This duel isn’t about marriage, is it?”

“When is nothing without its price, good lad?” The Beta gazed fondly at Yuuri’s cucumber sandwich, and he offered it. Just as in the circle, Lady Dofus refused to surrender. Despite her weapon gone and Viktor approached her slowly, eyes curtained behind his bangs. Blade poised for the strike. “This is the price of choice. Dear Nikiforov there been holding back on his choice for years now. Drove the community mad, it did!” A fleck of cucumber stiffened in the cold as the Beta chewed on it slowly, like a bit of straw for his teeth. “See here, every person makes their choice when they hold a blade in the circle. That’s what life is. You make a choice to gain one. You lose your choice, you’ll lose the other one. _Too.”_ Emphasize led by a juicy corner of the cucumber sandwich and Yuuri diverted his attention back to the circle.

His grip on the rapier loosened just as Viktor’s grip tightened. Of what game Lady Dofus was playing at when she loosened her articles of clothing and exposed her neck to the wind’s intimate chill, it didn’t concern Viktor until Lady Dofus whispered that the duel wasn’t over yet.

“You’ve lost your blade.” Viktor blew his bangs to the side, but they rose for a moment before bumping softly against his face. “You’re finished.”

“Oh, what happened to dueling to the pain?” Lady Dofus tore out from her petticoat, and the fabric drifted onto the ground like a wad of snow. “What happened to that fantastical speech that you recited earlier? Or, was it a bit of biology at play when you established your dominance over all your suitors?”

The curve of her gaze pointed towards the scratched, the slightly bleeding, and the ruffled suitors that had lost to Viktor in a span of a few seconds each. From a fumble, from the unsteadiness of their grip on the rapier, and they were merely beginners next to an Alpha that had been training ever since he turned. Twenty years in the making when Viktor stood in front of Lady Dofus’ nonsense.

“I’m not here to seek blood or flesh to console my wounds.” Viktor lowered his sword, slightly. “It’s when people don’t understand the concept of _‘No’_ that gripes me, as if nothing is more substantial than my status as an unbonded Alpha in this world.”

Only the wind was heard in the courtyard as every party guest turned their gaze slightly and was distracted by a feature in the dormant garden. How footsteps faded in and out with the falling snow, how the winter berries were a bloody red upon nimble branches, and the whispers from the breeze muted the guilt that slit every throat that felt something after hearing what Viktor had said.

Every Alpha outside of the circle-- _from the mated, to the forced like Felipe, and to the hiding like Yuuri--_ felt a step forward within the community. As if they were linked and took the pivotal step at the same time, with Viktor when his lips curled in disgust.

Impervious to the sudden shift in the wind, Lady Dofus graced Viktor with a smile before she ran scratches down her neck. One stroke for every urge that had been built into her body, for what she taught herself when actions and words couldn’t stand alone. For in defeat, an Omega’s best guard was their biology and how to induce a heat. Rather simple when jagged, red lines burned against Lady Dofus’ skin and she imagined how she had scratched herself many times before when she was in heat, with and without a mate by her side. The tactile memory was what spurred the different notes in her scent, and Viktor’s scent tangled with hers.

The bonded Alphas looked towards their mates and were shielded at once, blanketed over with coats and scarves to keep them within the realms of sanity. Felipe retreated into the Nikiforov Manor, a throbbing urge between her legs. Stiffening her walk until Lady Nikiforov escorted her inside and whispered softly if she was about to rut. No blush across her face when Felipe nodded and she asked for a towel.

In the outer edge of the circle, Yuuri hesitated for a moment before burying his nose into his scarf. Breathing into his own scent drove out the excited buzz, tinkering in the back of his mind. His body tensed, almost contorted into odd angles as spasms rippled down his back. Jolting Yuuri into every which way because Lady Dofus was unbonded.

She was, without doubt, the most powerful Omega in the courtyard by scent, alone, but she was, perhaps, the most idiotic individual Lady Nikiforov had ever come across when she emerged from the manor. Her nose wrinkled. If Lady Dofus had claimed marriage years ago, wouldn’t her scent have indicated so?

 _No bond mark,_ Lady Nikiforov thought to herself, teeth locked in a grit when she reunited with her husband. A growl was not unheard when Viktor stumbled backwards and fell into the snow. A tremor had taken root and tried to coax a rut out from him. Despite the handkerchief Viktor pulled from his breast pocket and pressed against his nose.

“Kneel, Nikiforov.” Lady Dofus loomed over Viktor as a shadow. “The duel isn’t over until I see you begging on your knees.”

If hatred was a smell, it was the scent of burning copper that wafted from Viktor’s neck. A sliver of his bangs crept away from his eyes when he stared at Lady Dofus with defiance. The same look that her wife and Felipe had given thrice over before they learned better. Viktor would learn of the same punishment, soon, for victory was within Lady Dofus’ hands. An unbonded Omega had the highest protection by law’s accordance. No one could touch her, no one could make her move.

“You shouldn’t be denying yourself of what you so desire, Nikiforov. It’s in your biology to--”

“You speak much about biology when you abuse your own,” Viktor finally said. Though his handkerchief hovered over his mouth, his words were nothing but clear to everyone’s ears. “How dare you stand on the other side of this duel, pretend to play fair, and do something like this?”

“Nowhere in a duel does it state that I can’t do what I already have.” Lady Dofus threw her arms wide and surveyed the rest of her fellow company. None dared to nod or show any sign of acceptance. Furiously holding their mates, their family, those who had an Alpha held theirs tightly, and not a gesture of compliance came to Lady Dofus’ beck and call. She narrowed her eyes at them all. “A duel is a matter of who wins.” Clearly, the moment when she lost her sword didn’t register in Lady Dofus’ mind. “I won through your biology. You’re enticed by what you wished you had.”

“Just because his body feels interested, it doesn’t mean he is,” came a voice from the crowd. Emerging from the Nikiforov Manor, a towel wrapped around her waist, was Felipe. The circle broke in the middle when she passed through, limping. The ribbons that Lady Dofus had gifted her with were loose like rags, clinging to what was left of Felipe before they fell. One by one behind her steps, and she didn’t turn back to glimpse at her past.

Lady Dofus narrowed her eyes. She lifted her petticoat from the snow and flung it towards Felipe’s feet, expecting the Alpha to ravish the fabric with her teeth. Instead, Felipe stepped and pushed it beneath her when she approached Lady Dofus until she was well-within the circle. “What do you know about biology?”

“Enough.” The heaviness of Lady Dofus’ scent stiffened every joint in Felipe’s body, licking a dull burn to where she was hurt the most. From night after night, biting into a block of wood when Lady Dofus took what she could and left Felipe bare against the haze of her senses. This wasn’t her price as an Alpha. Especially, if she was never formally claimed by the woman that so called her _‘my wife.’_

“You dare to defy me?” Lady Dofus flickered her gaze, up and down, when Felipe didn’t shy away from her glare. “After all I’ve given you.”

If all the worldly possessions were at Felipe’s feet, she shunned the gold in favor for freedom. “Don’t call me your ‘wife’ when you’ve never treated me as one.” A flush of color rose from Felipe’s neck. “Don’t say this is your duty when you’ve abused to no end. Don’t say you want heirs when you’re in it for the pleasure.” Though her knees trembled, Felipe’s voice was as steady as ever when she stared into Lady Dofus’ eyes. “Your womb holds nothing else but all the lies you have left to say.”

This last bit wasn’t just for herself, nor for just the bonded Alphas that did or wished that they had good mates to keep them comfortable until the end of their days. This was for the Alphas who sought for just justice, though people claimed that they wished for the worse of human behavior upon them. This was for the Alphas who longed for freedom, to whom that have lost their ability to love after ten crows per client. This was for the Alphas who were bought, sold, or kidnapped into the life they were forced to lead. This was for the Alphas that were still fighting for their sliver of peace at the dinner table. Where therein, the Omegas took the largest share. Leaving the Betas with the leftovers, leaving Alphas with the barest scrapes to clink their dinner plate.

Felipe loosened out from the towel, wrapped around her waist, and she threw it to Lady Dofus. If so happened she wanted the taste of a rut, there. She could have it, like the biology-factory she wanted to be when the delusion was a stark reality to those who suffered within the pens.

“Don’t speak like you understand the suffering when you’ve never suffered a day in your life.” Felipe didn’t expect applause or anyone to praise her name, but she felt comfort when the party’s Alphas came to her side and scented her softly. Viktor stepped around Lady Dofus, after rising from the snow, and stood by Felipe’s side. His back turned to face Lady Dofus and a sliver of his gaze parted through his hair. Brushed against Viktor’s side, his scent creeping through a softly woven scarf, Yuuri stepped forward and joined his rank. Loosening the restraint around his neck and summer had come early in December.

Yuuri revealed his claim as an unbonded Alpha. Worried, at first, that this would turn the tide into Lady Dofus’ favor. That somehow, the party guests would forget this monumental moment and succumb back to their daily portion of sin. However, Yuuri perked up when he felt the squeeze of Viktor’s hand engulfing his own, and Yuuri met the supportive gazes from the Alphas around him.

_You’re safe, here with us._

 

 

_We’re all making our way through the inferno._

The thought lingered near the back of Yuuri’s mind as he crept in Viktor’s little birthday game, that evening. Loose floorboards felt toasted against his feet. How his body curved to the touch, shifting weight back and forth as he patrolled down an empty hallway on the second-floor. He could lift the handkerchief, tied neatly over his nose, and follow the trail of sweet strawberries on a spring morning to find Viktor. He could find the patch of greenery, sow where the fruit had fallen, and rediscover the heart that had made this world more of a home with every passing moment. Yuuri turned his head, knocked a mahogany door back with the crossbar of his rapier. The door creaked upon its hinge. The echo rippled over the silence when Yuuri held his breath.

_I’ve drawn from my conclusion that this is not who you are; pertained to the evidence I’ve been given._

An empty bedroom stared back at Yuuri. Dark at first until he turned on a light. A flicker from the overhanging light bulb, situated in the middle of Viktor’s room, and Yuuri walked in. Past the threshold, he closed the door. A small click resonated behind him. Yuuri held his rapier as if it was an extension to his body. He lowered himself into what felt like a split. One hand touched the floor for balance when he searched under the crevice of the bed for a figure. The space underneath the drawers was much too small to hide a body, that of a grown man as well. Rising up to his feet, Yuuri sidestepped into circles and spun his body in every which way in case the glint of blade struck first at him. He let his tip drag against the floor when he approached the bed.

Velvet curtains drawn forward. Yuuri drew them back. The definite shape of a figure beneath the sheets was a telltale sign, as well as the perfectly kissable lips that were perched on the side because that was how Viktor had laid when he hid during this little, birthday duel at night. Between him and Yuuri. Yuuri pulled his handkerchief-mask down and softly prodded Viktor’s shoulder.

“I guess my challenger chooses defeat if he’s crawling into bed already.” Yuuri held back his laugh when Viktor poked his head out from underneath his bed sheet. One of his bangs slipped past his eyes, like a curtain opening up, and Yuuri saw Viktor’s left eye.

“Casualness dictates that hiding is allowed if I’m not caught.” That subtle wink of his eye and Yuuri reminded himself that he had a rapier in his hand. Keep it steady, pointed to the floor. If need be, raise it slightly for Viktor was void of his sword.

Viktor glanced down at himself, already too comfy to get out on his own. He already couldn’t move much of anything when Yuuri sat at the edge of the bed, dipping the space. One of Viktor’s legs happened to slide and bumped against Yuuri’s curve. Almost innocent, in a way, if Viktor had darted his eye up and if Yuuri didn’t look away. Resting his rapier across his lap, the tip pointed the other way and the handle was within Viktor’s reach.

“Caught as you are, I deem myself the victor if you don’t mind.”

“I believe I’m the only one here that can call himself Viktor.” The joke didn’t go unnoticed by Yuuri and the flutter of his laughter was made all the more sweeter, accompanied by a lemon tree and a touch of summer when Viktor indulged himself on Yuuri’s scent.

Yuuri passed Viktor his handkerchief, and Viktor wrapped it affectionately around his dueling hand. He didn’t look away from Yuuri when he sniffed the fabric a bit, and the bravery that overcame Viktor spoke so much of what freedom meant to him. Of what this fluttery feeling in his chest meant when he witnessed another side to Yuuri that he cherished so dearly.

It was the ability to be able to court, as strangely as it was, to someone who understood him. After five years, perhaps more intimately acquainted with one another before it became apparent, neither had to shy away from what they felt inside. Yuuri, he no longer had to hide that he was an Alpha and could freely express some of the softest joys he had experienced while remaining near Viktor’s side. Viktor, he didn’t have to stop himself from wondering if this love inside was a mistake. He didn’t have to hold himself back, contemplating if he was ready to accept a married life with a partner after hearing stories from bonded Alphas and of the alike. Viktor didn’t have to hide the meaning behind the touches he gave to Yuuri when they both felt comfortable.

He shifted a few strands of Yuuri’s hair and curved them behind an ear so he could see Yuuri’s eyes better. And perhaps, Viktor was speculating rather fondly at this point, he found a reason to wish for a married life if the one to take his hand was Yuuri. It sounded strange. Positively, unequivocally strange! Barbaric to all the denial letters and the aloof front to ward off any suitors and here, just waltzing into Viktor’s life like had always played a part in the background before now, Yuuri was the only person that Viktor could see in his future. He couldn’t say it. So many _‘no’s_ won’t equal a _‘yes’_ so easily, but Viktor could reassure himself that Yuuri was indeed someone he could hold onto.

“Let’s duel once more.” Viktor sat up from under the sheets. The bed creaked, and Yuuri steadied himself until Viktor felt comfortable. Knees tucked against his chest, his arms hugging around his legs. His bangs brushed back so that Yuuri could see all of him, as much as Viktor could see all of Yuuri in this space where vulnerability was not a weakness, but a beautiful strength shared by those who were close. “The winner may choose what they want to do with the opponent, and the opponent may agree if they want to do it.”

Yuuri adjusted his spectacles. A curve of a smile for Viktor’s eyes, only. “An interesting proposal you have there, Viktor.” Yuuri’s hand slid a little closer to Viktor, and Viktor reached out with one of his toes. Gently the side of Yuuri’s hand and Viktor saw more of Yuuri’s smile. “Typically, the opponent does whatever the winner asks of them.”

“It’d be no better than if I had lost in a duel earlier today and forgone my freedom.” Viktor’s voice fell into a whisper when he lowered his gaze away from Yuuri. “Just to fulfill another’s dream of me being their breeding stock.”

Viktor knew what he said, and he felt no guilt of ever wanting to take those words back. Just, he didn’t think that he’d be sharing this with Yuuri. Not when they were comfortable like this, and his mother or father could walk into the bedroom and perhaps cut a portion of this tension with a hot knife. That was how thick the atmosphere had come when the words left Viktor’s lips, and Yuuri sat quietly to himself.

“Would you have been happier if I told you who I really was, sooner?” Yuuri didn’t meet Viktor’s gaze, and he didn’t try to meet it in the first place. Sort of talking to the rapier on his lap before Yuuri skimmed the lines of the floorboards. His hand pulled away from Viktor and was left alone on the great expanse of the bed. Viktor reached out and cradled Yuuri’s hand in his own.

“Let’s duel first and then, I will give you my answer.” Viktor patted the back of Yuuri’s hand gently, softly coaxing him to rise from the bed. Yuuri took his stance as Viktor kicked his feet over the edge of his sanctuary and his toes scratched against the floorboard.

“I won’t go easy on you, danseur.” He reached his hand underneath his bed and felt around before his hand brushed against a familiar handle. Unearthed from the darkness was his rapier, fitting nicely over his hand like a ring. The golden tinge of the knuckle brace reminded him of such when Viktor lifted his gaze and met Yuuri’s. “That’s how I show my love.” The tip of his blade was aimed directly for Yuuri’s heart.

Viktor would count down from ten, allowing Yuuri a head start. To hide, to brace himself, to ambush Viktor with every turn of his steps, or to remain where he was if he wanted to fight Viktor properly. Technician vs. artistic impression, it’d been a while since Viktor had tested Yuuri on his skills. Likewise, Viktor had improved significantly with his footwork, so he didn’t mind if Yuuri decided to transition the duel into a dance between blades. Rather appropriate when Yuuri pointed his rapier back at Viktor. Their blades skidded into that of an echo, and Yuuri lifted his left leg back. Poised, like a dancer upon a stage for a show of _Romeo and Juliet._

“Ten.”

Yuuri pulled his blade back and left the room. The door came back, clicking slightly to the edge of the threshold after Yuuri had gone.

“Nine.”

Viktor rose from the edge of his bed, carefully untying Yuuri’s handkerchief from his hand. Typing the fabric around his neck, covering his scent-glands, Viktor used the tip of his blade to slide his bedroom door open.

“Eight.”

He had abandoned his shoes, feeling every shift of his weight as he shuffled past his threshold and into the hallway. The second-floor was still, and Viktor could hear the crackle of the fireplace downstairs as his mother and father enjoyed their evening tea together.

“Seven.”

The whisper barely crept from Viktor’s lips when the blade of a rapier hovered about a baker’s thumb away from his neck. Yuuri emerged from behind a wall tapestry. A fine layer of dust coated his locks as he slowly backed Viktor into a corner. He drew away his blade, only slightly, so that Viktor could breathe. His breaths were heavy and fogged his reflection over Yuuri’s rapier.

_This is my gift to you: a story written for us._

“Six,” barely graced Viktor’s lips.

He lifted his rapier and pushed the upper half of Yuuri’s blade away. The skids in between them, the light taps of reassurance as they got into position _\--where Yuuri eased into a sturdier stance and Viktor toyed with Yuuri slightly with the turn of his wrist--_ before the clash of metal. Viktor struck. Yuuri blocked. They pushed and pull until one of them broke. Yuuri toppled backwards. Viktor surged to meet him in the middle once more.

Their rapiers collided in the middle, between the strongest and weakest parts of their blades. They circled, like two swans courting with their necks in a lazy circle. Where Yuuri crossed his steps, springy at his knees. Viktor kept himself low, trained for the slightest twitch in Yuuri’s eyes.

“Five.”

Yuuri ran his rapier down the length of Viktor’s blade, settling at the base before the swish of his wrist. On the offense, he glided down the hallway. Viktor braced himself. Pushing the weight of Yuuri’s thrust away from his fingers. Viktor knocked Yuuri back. He swept the point of his blade near the floor. Yuuri jumped, landing with a bit of a twirl. Beautiful if he had been wearing a dress, where the hem would fly around him in a circle, when he pressured from all sides. At every angle.

Tippity taps echoed in and out from their ears. As one switched from offense to defense, defense to offense with a nudge in dynamic. Yuuri’s wrist began to tremble, yielding to the onslaught of Viktor’s thrusts when he cornered Yuuri. Blades angled to each other’s necks. One wrist steady in its advance, the other trembling beyond coherence.

 _“Four,”_ Viktor all but whispered into the crook of Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri didn’t hide his smile when he reached and pulled his handkerchief off from around Viktor’s neck. He threw it to the side. It fell like a soft patch of snow. A white and blue, checkered pattern against the dark hardwood that creaked beneath Yuuri’s steps when he leaned forward. Kissed the side of Viktor’s cheek before hitting Viktor. Hard. In the chest, with the back of his rapier’s handle. Knocked the balance within Viktor when he stumbled back. Clutching at his wound as Yuuri ran down the hall.

“Three.”

Viktor ran. Yuuri turned around in mid-run. His eyes darted back before he looked forward. His rapier clashed against Viktor’s. Harsh skids to draw blood from the ears. And then, Yuuri charged forward and Viktor buckled under his knees. Forced to brace than to run backwards. Holding on. Yuuri swung. His form grew sloppy with every _thwack._ Until Viktor angled his rapier, caught the tip around the swellings of Yuuri’s blade, and threw both blades into the air. They landed somewhere behind Viktor’s feet, and he didn’t move. Lest, he wanted to cuts to dance on when he and Yuuri had their hands left.

“Two.”

Viktor clasped his hands around Yuuri’s, locked in this dance that soon would have one of them tipped back while the other held him steady. Viktor’s feet were already red, bruised, and aching as he followed Yuuri’s lead. Unaware of how Yuuri slipped his right hand from Viktor’s grasp and fitted his hold softly over the back of Viktor’s waist. He pointed with his eyes to where Viktor could rest his empty hand. Viktor opted to press his palm against the side of Yuuri’s neck. A little bit under of Yuuri’s scent-glands.

“One.”

The pace was slower, much slower where they could catch their breaths and slowly rock to each other’s rhythm. Slow enough where Viktor could lovingly stroke Yuuri’s scent-glands and feel a flush of heat at his fingertips when Yuuri nuzzled his cheek against Viktor’s hand. Their movements felt sluggish enough where time appeared to have stood still, compared to the mad dash that had overtaken their senses.

Yuuri panted underneath his breath, carefully adjusting his hold on Viktor’s waist so that his wrist could loosen up. Viktor plucked Yuuri’s handkerchief from the floor with his foot, and lightly dabbed the sweat that had gathered over the side of Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri’s cheek bounced underneath Viktor’s touch. It was soft, almost like a slice of paradise when Yuuri melted against Viktor’s fingertips. Yuuri glanced down at his feet for a moment before his gaze flickered upwards, accompanied by a faint tinge of blush.

“I can only find myself in your eyes,” Yuuri whispered. He lifted his hand from Viktor’s waist and brushed a few of Viktor’s bangs away. The hair tickled Yuuri’s fingertips, sliding easily off from his touch when they were swept away.

“All I can see is you,” Viktor said. His back brushed against a wall. Yuuri’s scent and his touch felt like summer in the darkest corner of the year. He lowered his head just as Yuuri reached onto his tippy toes. Winced at first, mumbling softly that the duel might’ve taken more out of him than he had thought. _“We still don’t know our winner.”_ It was easy to get lost in the flecks of gold that glittered behind Yuuri’s eyes.

 _“Would it be too easy to say that we’re both victors?”_ Yuuri laughed under his breath before Viktor could joke. _“Nikiforov is one of the softest names to carry.”_ Yuuri tilted his face when Viktor’s breath brushed against his lips.

 _“Not as soft as Katsuki, I’m afraid.”_ Viktor didn’t know where to put his hands. Yuuri felt comfortable with resting his hands over Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor could touch Yuuri’s cheek again, rest his touch against the back of Yuuri’s waist, perhaps excite Yuuri’s scent-glands before a bit of pleasure, or Viktor opted to rest his hands and wrists around the back of Yuuri’s neck so that they could remain together. Even after the kiss that tasted too sweet to be real, and Viktor kissed again just to be sure that this was real.

“Viktor, would you have been happier if you had known that I was an Alpha, sooner?” Yuuri couldn’t quite meet Viktor’s gaze when he traced down the bottom of Viktor’s lip.

“I wouldn’t have.” Viktor embraced Yuuri tenderly. His hands shook, slightly. “I wouldn’t have been able to protect you like I could now.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I was going to write this story for a zine I was in, but I wasn’t allowed so I wrote this on my own. Very quickly, without the SFW guidelines to keep me in check, this story grew into something strange. Really quickly.
> 
> Shout to the novel  _A Brother’s Price_ , I was inspired to write this because of the premise


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